


The Construction of Real

by quirked



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Clones, F/F, Gen, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirked/pseuds/quirked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have a list of names. They are names of clones, genetic identicals and on the rare occasion, sisters. They are constantly facing the construction of identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Construction of Real

**Author's Note:**

> Cosima is from San Francisco. I'm trying to flesh out her West Coast appeal without simply falling back on, "she's a little West Coast." San Francisco is a city that beats with it's own pulse, it's as much a character as Cosima and deserves to be more than just a cool kid card. Also, it has a (sadly disappearing) ability to pull outcasts together. So why the hell not?

They have a list of names. They are names of clones, genetic identicals and on the rare occasion, sisters. Four more located thus far in North America. Between Sarah, Allison, and Cosima, they decide that tracking them down is necessary, if for no other reason but to than to gain potential allies and attempt to sort out the ones in danger of the respiratory degeneration. They take on the responsibility distributing the treatment developed by Delphine and the Dyad for the illness.

Cosima, still somewhat frail, but euphorically in the stages of recovery, insists on accompanying Sarah to scope out as many clones as she is physically able. She does so against the wishes of an anxious Delphine who begs her lover, “repose-toi, s’il te plait!” Her luminous eyes have just begun to clear of the red tint that had seemed ever present during the darkest days of Cosima’s illness, the result of sleepless nights and endless tears. However, the strain remains between her brows and often compels her to bite on her bottom lip when she worries that the younger woman is pushing herself too hard, too quickly. Cosima is reassuringly and frustratingly strong enough to deploy her trademark cockiness (which has only grown exponentially after dodging a metaphorical bullet). She smiles widely and pulls Delphine into the circle of her arms, remarking that the other woman’s French is a huge turn on.

It soon becomes evident that Cosima cannot be swayed, even by leggy blondes with puppy eyes. She remains steadfast in joining Sarah in traveling to New York to meet with the young non-profit director who has developed a recurring cough. Delphine concedes only when they promise to take a flight that is much shorter than the 8-hour drive.

Cosima celebrates this win with sweet, gentle sex, knowing that that she isn’t quite up to an athletic blow out just yet. Not that the borderline helicopter Delphine would allow her to instigate such activities anyway. The next morning they gather in Felix’s heavily trafficked loft to book a pair of tickets online. As she submits the payment (thank you Dyad stipend!), she lets out a powerful, “ ‘Murica!” to the consternation of a loft that is occupied by a Canadian, a Parisian, and a couple of English-transplants.  


The trip to New York exhausts their resident genius greatly. Sarah answers Delphine’s call as they wait to board the return flight, assuring the woman on the other end of the line that Cosima is fine. Their newly found clone proved skeptical but receptive enough to medicine that they came equipped with. Cosima is asleep on her shoulder, her breathing clear but her body obviously over-exerted. It is a successful trip over all.

It is the fever that Cosima develops upon their return to Toronto that cements her return to bed rest. Delphine absolutely puts her foot down in a manner that manages to impress even Allison who stops by to deliver some soup and a collaborative card from Kira, Oscar, and Gemma. Cosima is resigned to not participating in any more excursions for the time being. 

At least until three weeks later when they get a hit on a potential clone who has recovered from a case of bronchitis in California.

_

“Delphine! This isn’t just any old fly-over bumfuck middle of nowhere place we’re talking about here! This is the Golden State, West-Coast-Best-Coast, Cali-fuckin’-fornia!” Cosima’s chest is flushed and her eyes are bright with joy as her hands weave their own intricate story in front of her. She is in soft sleep pants and a waffled thermal shirt, her usual habit of prancing about in just floral lingerie on hold as her body goes through the process of reacquiring the mass it has lost. She looks almost heart-breakingly young to her lover. 

Delphine lives in a constant state of relief and worry at Cosima’s slowly returning health. Relief because the small woman before her had been even smaller two months ago and worry because she seems determined to shrug what had seemed a terminal illness off despite what was proving to be a long recovery, filled with the setbacks that were often the direct result of Cosima’s own over-eager attitude. 

The French woman, seated on the plush couch of their shared apartment regarded her pacing… (Girlfriend? No, too trite. Too simple to encompass what they have been through together. Partner? Too clinical. Chérie, definitely, her amour…) English continued to prove awkward and limiting, despite her fluency. Her native tongue warmed her with the intention behind the words in a way that English never would. Except, perhaps, for Cosima’s particular and enduringly bizarre vernacular. 

“Ma chérie, we met in a ‘bumfuck middle of nowhere place,’ did we not?” She asks as she quirks a perfect brow, coolly awaiting a response.

Cosima waves her hand as if to dismiss her inquiry altogether. “Pfft, you and I were the only things that made Minnesota even a little sexy and you know it.” 

Rolling her eyes at the flattery she still finds herself blushing (this is a consistent state she finds herself in these days). Cosima moves to smoothly straddle her lap and Delphine is helpless to do anything but embrace her. Even as Cosima tucks her face into the crook of the blonde’s shoulder, Delphine is intent on her resistance, “I don’t know, Cosima. California is much farther than New York. You have only been well for a short time.”

Glasses and a warm nose press into her throat, “But there’s the ocean and even the Bay is warmer than the Great White North, right now.” Her voice is nearly vibrating with excitement. 

“There is no guarantee that this woman is near San Francisco, mon amour. You have said yourself that your home state is quite large.” She attempts to soften the potential impact of her words by rubbing soothing circles on the warm back. Her hand catches on shoulder blades still too sharply defined for Delphine’s comfort. Clear, if slightly shallow breath fans across her pulse point and she revels in proof of Cosima’s sheer force of life provided by every inhale beneath her hands and every exhale just below her jaw. 

The dreadlocked head beneath her line of vision gives a reluctant nod; “It feels like forever since I’ve seen the Pacific…”

The black ink of a nautilus tattoo flashes in Delphine’s mind as the body against hers seems to melt even closer. She closes her eyes but cannot ignore the longing that seems to permeate the air around their intertwined forms. 

“If you go,” She begins, unsurprised when Cosima perks up and pulls back to look her in the eye. “If you go, I insist on travelling with you. This is my only term, Cosima.”

The brightness of the grin that she is met with eases some of her conflicted emotions. The searing kiss that she receives obliterates them as if they’d never existed in the first place. 

_

“We can’t know for sure that she still lives here, Art can’t get access to the Ministry of Transportation out here.” Sarah says, shielding her eyes against a cheerily bright sun. She leans into the trunk and scrabbles around her small duffle bag for her sunglasses. Cosima leans against the side of their rental car; hand threaded through Delphine’s, soaking in what she informs them is a uniquely gorgeous and fogless day for the city during this time in the year. 

“It’s called a DMV in the land of the free, you Red Coat.” Sarah catches her sister’s girlfriend’s gaze and rolls her eyes, grudgingly thankful for the other foreigner’s presence. Cosima has been full of patriotic quips since they arrived in the Darwinist’s state and Sarah is grateful that she does not have to endure her sister’s propensity for ridiculous and random moments of patriotism alone. Cosima ignores her, buzzing at the thought of moving freely amongst the hills of her childhood, even if they fail to find or make a meaningful connection with this newest clone. 

They have ended up, ironically, in San Francisco. The clone they are looking for is named Jessica Clare. They had all been interested in coming to find out that another of their clones was an academic, this time it seemed that she was a young writer that had gained a quiet notoriety for her unique collections of vignettes, they had only barely managed to trace the books to the author J. Clare. She proves to be incredibly elusive. Sarah can’t help but wonder how the fiction author will react. Truth would certainly prove stranger than fiction this time around.

All that they know is that the author is an adjunct rhetoric and composition professor in and around the Bay Area originally hailing; it would seem, from Los Angeles. She is frustratingly difficult to find information on; they only had a last known address from three years prior and knowledge that she had worked intermittently between San Francisco State University and Stanford. Upon hearing the private school’s name, Cosima had booed quite loudly, claiming that it was her duty as UC Berkeley alum. Her antics went largely ignored by her lover and sister in the coffee shop they had begun the day in. 

They have only a handful of photos from what seems to be news clipping of Jessica’s winning of an adolescent short story competition from years earlier. Not that they really need a photograph, Sarah thinks wryly. 

The British woman turns when she hears Delphine let out a short sound of wordless shock. When she turns to see what has startled the other woman so, her own brows nearly hit her hairline as she is met the sight of a man walking about completely nude except for the fanny pack clipped around his torso. Cosima smirks and wraps her arms around the blonde’s waist, clearly unsurprised. 

Delphine, Sarah reflects, might actually be the worst person to assist in probing for information. She is too obvious and too curious. It’s a wonder she was ever assigned to be a monitor in the first place. She sticks out in her chic jacket and boots while Cosima seems to blend in while simultaneosuly remaining incredibly conspicuous the oddest of ways with the other colorful people they see, her demeanor and way of dressing are becoming less of a mystery the longer they remain in the city. As they pass a grassy park with people strewn across Sarah has to admit that she doesn’t think she’s smelt so much weed in her life… Also, there seems to be a man selling ganja lollies.

Sarah realizes that she is just the right amount of low-key in her usual hoodie and leather jacket. She regrets proposing that Cosima use her knowledge of the city to help them contact this clone. She feels like the couple bring more attention than she thought possible in just existing and holding hands. 

They arrive at a large and sprawling multi-flat Victorian, a San Francisco staple from what Sarah can tell after (yet another) hill. They manage to do so at a sedate pace, but both Sarah and Delphine trade looks when they hear Cosima wheeze just a touch and let out a short cough due to the rather wicked incline they’ve just traversed. They say nothing, knowing it’s better than to flame her annoyance at being coddled, just pausing as she takes a deeper steadying breath. 

Sarah looks at the call box and finds a neatly handwritten J. Clare next to a button. Cursing quietly she realizes they won’t be able to get past the heavy entry gate that blocks the doorway, nor the heavy front security door that lead into the building without being let in. 

A quietly rumbled, “Excuse me,” catches them all of guard as they turn to meet a small framed man trying to get in the building that they are blocking access to. He is attractively scruffily bearded in nicely tailored navy slacks and a light grey sport coat. 

Eyes widen all around as each party registers what is occurring before them. 

“Dude.” “Dude.”

Cosima and the man both retreat back in shock as they realize they’ve spoken simultaneously. 

It would seem that they’ve found Jessica. 

 

\- 

Cosima stares at the man in front of her. Jesse, he’d said as he’d taken their coats and their names. Not Jessica, not for a good while, if ever, by the look of things. He’d quickly ushered them all into his building and up to his modest one bedroom apartment and disappeared into what she assumes is his kitchen. The floor plans of a lot of these apartments are the same. She’d been in quite a few in her teen years and later as a student at Berkeley; making constant trips across the Bay Bridge to visit her undergraduate girlfriend who’d attended the small private Jesuit university in the city. 

He’d returned carrying a couple of glasses and a bottle of top shelf whiskey, they are all distributed now; hers untouched due to her continued medicinal regimen. 

He takes a large pull from his glass and sets it back on the table between them. He is seated directly across from them in a stylishly worn simple leather club chair, while Sarah stands propped against the wall on the side of the room, Delphine is perched on the arm of the couch, her hand resting lightly on Cosima’s shoulder as she leans forward in her seat on the couch. 

His eyes dart from Cosima to Sarah and back again as he rubs at the scruff on the side of his face. He is slightly taller than them. The result of an early started testosterone regimen Cosima deduces, he would have had to start sometime in his teens. 

“Am I adopted?” He ventures softly. His incredibly familiar eyes lock on her face. A face, Cosima thinks, must prove excruciatingly confusing in so many ways. His voice sounds similar to her own, if she’d sucked on the opposite of helium. There are familiar cadences, but altogether it’s the voice of a stranger. 

“I think you’re gonna need a little more of this, yeah?” Sarah offers as she steps to top off his drink. He stares at her and nods dumbly at her rough accent as he settles back. 

Cosima is able to give the kinder explanation, the one that Allison had robbed Sarah of in the beginning of the mess that their lives had become. Delphine’s soothing hand helps. She can feel her lungs expand in her chest in a reassuring rhythm. 

Jesse is stunned. 

“Well, fuck.” He says hazily. His eyes rake over them once more. “Talk about testing the gender matrix.”

Cosima gives him a kind grin. Nerd.

“The wha’?” Sarah asks from her new space next to Cosima. 

Jesse pushes his hand through his short, styled hair. “It’s this idea that gender, sexuality, sex, it’s all a part of this unstable matrix of identification. We’re all subjects made real, tangible and intangible by the intersections of our identities and experiences, never outside of our social context.”

“Shaped by biology and social bias.” Delphine pipes up, her eyes meeting Cosima with a love that puts an altogether different and welcome pressure in her chest. 

“Social construction, not necessarily naturally occurring but real through consequence, yeah… Well, fuck.” He looks utterly blown away, maybe apprehensive, but he’s not completely terrified, despite the explanation about the Dyad that had come from Delphine. 

Sarah observes him carefully. “You’re taking this a damn sight better than most.”

“I am a bit drunk.” Jesse admits freely. “So that is definitely a plus in my book. But it seems to me that this means the institutional pressures on my body are a tad more tangible than most.” His chuckle is low; it could be beautiful in the right context, Cosima thinks. 

“And,” he adds, “I’m staring my potential paths in the face. Today went from me being pissed off that none of my students turned in their drafts, to the embodiment of meta.” He shakes his head, precariously walking the line between amusement and disbelief. It is a balance that Cosima thinks he might be actually equipped to perform.

\- 

They leave his apartment long after the sun has set, with a promise that he will keep them informed about his test results and fly out to meet them if he notices any burgeoning symptoms. Before they manage to get out of the door he catches Cosima’s elbow and nods toward Delphine who is busy putting her jacket on. 

“Dude.” He waggles his eyebrows once. 

Cosima throws a grin at him. “Bro, you don’t even know.” 

He’s chuckling as he closes the door behind them. 

They find themselves down by the Bay Bridge. The illumination of the bridge reflects off the water and the cool having been held back during the day is softly rustling Delphine’s hair. Sarah has gone back to their hotel to figure out what she was going to tell an anxiously awaiting Allison. Cosima had off handedly suggested just telling her that they had a boy clone. Allison, for all her suburbanite qualities, is quite understanding, if incredibly paranoid. 

“Your city is a strange collection of outsiders, Cosima.” Delphine tells the shorter woman wrapped in her arms as they look out at the water. 

Cosima snorts, “I think that’s an overall metaphor for my life.” She pauses, “Jesse was not what I expected.”

“Non,” Delphine agrees, “I would imagine not.”

“It’s kinda rad, though.” 

“Pourquoi?” 

“I kinda have a brother now. Also, he’s a huge nerd…and he might totally need a girlfriend.” 

“And you plan to play the part of a matchmaker, mon amour?” Delphine asks dryly. 

“Maybe.” There is a beat of quiet. “Okay, probs.” They laugh together as Cosima pops out her phone. “We have another two days in the city to hang around if he needs any help, but in the meantime…” She hits a contact on her screen. “I’ve got a guy who sells the best brownies, and he delivers!”

“Brownies?” Delphine’s query goes unanswered. “I can find a bakery, maybe tomorrow?”

“Pete? Yeah, it’s Cos. I’m in town and I need some edibles.”

“Ma cherie, if you are hungry we can go get food. I have heard many good things about this city’s culinary capability. They say it is as close to Europe as is possible.”

Cosima waves her away, relaying their hotel information over the phone before hanging up. “We’re gonna feel like we can fly to Europe tonight, trust me.”

“I’m afraid I do not understand.” Delphine responds as Cosima tugs her back in the direction of the hotel. Delphine goes follows without resistance

“I’m making good on a promise I made to you when we met.” Cosima’s smile is positively impish as she watches realization wash over the other woman. “A true San Francisco experience. Just wait and see.” 

“Bien sûr, I expect nothing less.” Delphine, despite the strangeness of the life she has made for herself cannot help but think on Jesse’s earlier words. She is made real in this moment by this woman. She cannot help but think it is almost the most beautiful kind of truth, the most beautiful kind of real.


End file.
